


Staying Afloat

by ihavelovedyoubeautifully



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Epic Romance, M/M, Stony - Freeform, multi-chaptered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavelovedyoubeautifully/pseuds/ihavelovedyoubeautifully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers was treading water in a sea of insanity. He was barely staying afloat, and he desperately needed someone to pull him to shore before time ran out and he went under. Just as he is about to slip away forever, a hand reaches out to save him. And as he grabs onto his savior, he is greeted not by skin, but by the cool touch of metal. Steve/Tony epic romance.</p><p>Inspired by Gotye's "Eyes Wide Open."</p><p>
  <i>But it was like to stop consuming's to stop being human,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>And why would I make a change if you won't?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>We're all in the same boat, <b>staying afloat</b> for the moment.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Miss Her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello there! So this was a story I began on ff.net a while back and it got some great feedback, so I decided to post it here. It is still a work in progress, and I'm excited to continue._
> 
> _Please let me know your thoughts!_

He had tried. He had been trying for months now. Seasons had come and gone, the moon had waxed and waned, and the calendar pages had flown off the wall. And still he felt no change.

He had tried. He had tried to embrace this new lifestyle, especially when it came to the women. They were still beautiful, even in this new age. The clothing was sometimes a bit too revealing for his taste, and their eyes a little too dark, but if he looked hard enough he was able to find the exceptions—those women that carried themselves with the poise and grace he remembered from the forties.

But every time he looked at them and they looked back, all he saw was her. The russet curls. The full red lips. The fierce and searching eyes.

And then it hit him like a freight train—the all-consuming emptiness that made his insides ache, as if they hadn't yet thawed from his seventy-year prison. And he wanted to cry, and he wanted to scream, and he wanted most of all to beat his fists against anything he could find. And he did. He beat the wall until his knuckles bled. He hit the punching bag until it hit the floor and broke open.

But it was never enough.

* * *

"I don't know if you're aware, but it's two in the morning. I mean, I know you're new here, but you must know that people usually sleep at this hour."

Steve turned to see Tony Stark striding through the automatic doors leading out onto the rooftop, a glass of brandy clutched in his hand.

"I don't know if _you're_ aware, but I was asleep for seventy years. It's lost a bit of its appeal," he replied, laughing grimly. Tony chuckled and sat down next to the Captain, offering him his glass of brandy. Steve shook his head politely and Tony shrugged and downed the drink.

"Fury's worried about you, you know," Tony said, setting his glass down and folding his hands together.

"I'm pretty worried about me, too," Steve replied, looking up at the starless night sky of Manhattan and sighing.

"Look, I'm not good at this whole consoling thing, but I know for a fact that you've got at least one good thing going for you."

"What's that?" Steve asked, turning to face Tony. His fellow Avenger was quiet for a few moments before raising a hand to touch the arc reactor glowing ethereally in the middle of his chest.

"You're alive," he replied softly, his eyes staring ahead of him at the skyline but clearly seeing something else.

"Do you think it's worth it, Stark? To be alive?" His blue eyes searched Tony's face, looking for any flicker of doubt or even just emotion in the man's impassive expression.

"I don't know, Cap. I guess that's for you to decide." Tony had surfaced from his reverie and was now looking at his empty glass, seemingly contemplating going inside to fill it.

"Some days I feel like it is. When we're out in the city, helping people. When I have a job to do. When I have a purpose. But when I'm just sitting here… This world knocks the breath right out of me. I dig up old memories and spend all my time in my head, just to feel like I belong somewhere."

"Do you miss her?" The question came out of nowhere, and it stabbed Steve's heart like ten of Hawkeye's poisonous arrows. He turned to see Tony standing up, not facing him.

Steve blinked a few times, making sure he had heard correctly.

The fact that the two were even talking was a miracle in itself. But now Tony Stark, so-called genius playboy billionaire philanthropist, was asking Steve Rogers, his personal enemy #1, something that hinted at the fact that he actually cared.

It certainly caught the nearly infallible Captain America off guard, and Steve had to take a few seconds to organize his thoughts before answering.

"I… I miss her every day."

Tony nodded his head, his back still turned. An uncomfortable silence settled on the two, until Tony cleared his throat.

"Well, you should talk to Pepper about it. She's good at that kind of stuff," he said briskly, his tone all business as he collected his glass and headed towards the exit. "Goodnight, Cap."

The automatic doors closed behind him and Steve was left there to stare after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	2. Room 249

"I see you've personalized my wall."

Steve opened his eyes in annoyance to find Tony standing in his room, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He was examining Steve's punching wall, which was covered in various dents and some rather grotesque blood smears.

"I'm sorry about that," he murmured sleepily, stifling a powerful yawn.

Tony waved away the apology as he took a sip of his coffee. "No problem. This is your floor, after all. You can do with it what you will."

After a few moments of staring at Tony incredulously, Steve finally voiced the question hanging in the air. "Tony… What exactly are you doing in my bedroom?"

His fellow Avenger's face broke into that particular smile that Steve knew preceded a joke at his expense, and he readied himself for the inevitable.

"Well, I told Pepper about our chat last night and she insisted I come check on you to make sure you hadn't done anything _emo_ to yourself."

"… Emo?" Steve asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Tony let out a breath of half frustration and half laughter and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later. But it's time for you to get out of bed now, Sleeping Beauty. It's ten, and you have a meeting at eleven."

"A meeting?" Steve hopped out of bed and followed Tony out of the room in confusion, "What meeting?"

Tony turned around to reply, but stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened as he got a full shot of his teammate's pajamas, and he immediately burst out laughing. Steve was scantily clad in bright American flag boxers and nothing else.

"American flag boxers? _Really,_ Rogers?"

Steve frowned and looked down at his prized PJ's. "I'm Captain America! What did you expect? The Canadian flag?"

Tony pursed his lips. "You don't wear those every night, do you?" he asked, smirking at the thought.

The Captain narrowed his eyes at his iron comrade. "Of course not. That is completely unsanitary. Now, what is this meeting you mentioned?"

"Just shower and get dressed, I'll brief you on everything once you're done with your makeup." He smirked, took a loud sip of his coffee, and disappeared around the corner.

Steve stood dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the sudden lightness in his chest. That joke that Tony had made had actually been funny. He marveled as he felt a smile spread across his face. What a wonderful thing it was to smile again!

Still wearing this strange and exhilarating grin on his face, Steve headed to his shower. "JARVIS, hot water please," he requested politely. The water began to flow steadily from the shower head as he slipped off his boxers and climbed in.

He liked his shower scalding hot. Anything to chase away the memory of being encased in frigid ice on all sides.

Closing his eyes, he let his muscles relax as the hot water ran down his body. He thought of last night, and how Tony had asked if he missed Peggy. He could still see her face and her smile so clearly in his mind. He could still hear her voice.

_"Don't be late."_

He threw some shampoo in his hair, hoping to scrub away the painful memory. He had been late. So very late.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, like he did every night before bed, "I'm sorry I was late, Peggy."

The familiar guilt and regret and panic began crawling in his stomach, but he disregarded them. Tony was right. He was alive, and he was damn well going to make the best of it. That's what Peggy would have wanted him to do. At least that's what he thought she would have wanted.

He made the shower quick and ran a comb through his blonde hair, parting it carefully. He had no idea what this meeting was about but he didn't plan on going into it looking sloppy.

After wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded out of the bathroom and into his bedroom to get dressed. He choose a simple blue t-shirt and nice jeans to wear, and folded his Captain America suit on the bed so that he was ready to change if this turned out to be a SHIELD mission of some sort.

It was still a bit before eleven, but he decided to head up to Tony's floor anyway.

His iron comrade was sitting at the large black dining table, poring over a computer image projected in front of him. At the sight of Steve he immediately moved the image away and gestured for him to sit down.

"Will the others be joining us?" Steve asked as he sat down delicately in one of the plush dining chairs. Tony propped his legs up on the table and looked directly at his teammate.

"No, I'm afraid it will be just you and me."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "… All right. What is this about?"

Tony, who seemed incredibly agitated, swung his legs off of the table and got up to refill his cup of coffee. "Miss Potts has been kind enough to set up an appointment for you," he called back as he filled up his mug with the steamy black liquid. "Coffee?"

The Captain shook his head and Tony turned back around to take care of adding creamer and sugar. "What is this appointment about?" Steve asked, somewhat impatiently.

"I honestly have no idea," Tony replied, heading back to the table with his fresh caffeine, "She just gave me an address, and I am supposed to escort you there. Oh, and you're supposed to wear that jacket you'd wear back in the day. She said that was extremely important. I have no idea why."

"My old war jacket? That's a strange request," Steve replied, wondering why Miss Potts insisted he wear something so old and outdated.

"Maybe she's entered you in a beauty contest," Tony mused, slurping his coffee obnoxiously and returning his attention to the holographic screen before him.

Steve narrowed his eyes at Tony before running downstairs to grab his jacket. He reached into the closet and paused for a moment, feeling the soft leather and inhaling the smell. This jacket had been through war and back. This jacket had been with him through everything. It had been memorialized in a museum after the plane crash, and he was only able to get it back when he went to request it in full Captain America garb. He really hadn't worn it much because he couldn't stand the memories that came with it. But he trusted Miss Potts, and if she said he should wear it, he would follow her instructions.

When he returned to Tony's floor, his comrade had his own black leather jacket on and was throwing his car keys up into the air and catching them.

"Well, don't you look spiffy. All right, come on, Grandpa. We've got an appointment to make."

And then they were riding in Tony's shiny black car that Steve could never remember the name of, speeding through the streets of Manhattan with the top down. He leaned his head back and let the wind comb through his hair. At this moment in time, he wasn't panicking about where Tony was taking him. At this moment in time, he was content.

The car suddenly lurched to a halt and Steve was thrown forwards, the seatbelt digging painfully into his neck. "Ouch! Stark, what's going on?"

Tony's aviators glinted in the sun as he turned towards the super soldier. "We're here," he replied simply, pushing the car door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Steve looked up to see a plain white building with no apparent markings on the front. He got out of the car slowly, still confused.

"What is this place?" he asked, looking around for a sign that would answer his question.

"You'll see soon enough," Tony replied nonchalantly, walking briskly inside.

The Captain followed him through a set of golden swinging doors into an intensely white lobby area. Nearly blinded by the harsh fluorescent light, he stumbled to the front desk that Tony was leaning against. A cheerful-looking receptionist sat in the chair behind the counter, clicking some information into her computer.

"Room 249," she said as she finished her clicking. Steve's eyebrows raised as Tony immediately took off down a side hallway.

"Tony? Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Here we are," Tony said, suddenly stopping and pointing to the number 249 on the sign to the right of the door.

"Stark! Are you listening to me? Will you please tell me what is going on? What is this place? Why are we here?"

"What was Peggy's last name, Steve?" Tony suddenly asked, finally looking up into his teammate's face.

Somewhat taken aback by the question, he sputtered "C-Carter. But why—?"

His eyes suddenly widened as he followed Tony's finger, which was now pointing at a sign hung on the door.

_Welcome to St. Rose's Home!_

_This room belongs to:_

_**Peggy Carter** _


	3. Let Go

He had imagined this moment hundreds of times. Maybe even thousands. He had thought about all of the things he would say to her if he had gotten the chance. How he had never known someone so intelligent, beautiful, and steadfast. How she was perfect in every way. How he would have married her in less than a heartbeat.

But now that the opportunity was right here in front of him, all of the beautiful words he had so carefully constructed had crumbled to pieces. He wasn't sure if he even remembered how to speak.

"Why didn't anyone tell me she was still alive?" Steve asked softly, trying to fight back the stinging tears in his eyes. He would rather return to his ice prison than cry in front of Tony Stark.

Tony's voice was gentle, but his expression had hardened. "Pepper arranged all of this. I didn't know until the receptionist told me. I'm not sure anyone knew for sure."

"I can't do this."

"Look, you said you missed her, right? This is your chance to say the things you never got to say. This is your chance to say goodbye. You're going to hate yourself if you don't take advantage of this opportunity." Tony's voice was low and level, and his words hung heavy in Steve's chest. Because he couldn't be more right.

So with a confidence he didn't really feel, he reached out to knock on the door. A soft "Come in," followed, and he took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

She was lying in a bed near the window. The russet curls were white and the lips no longer red, but he knew it was her. Those fierce and searching eyes he knew all too well were now directly focused on him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"You're late, you know." Her voice was old and frail, but he cherished the sound just the same. Her smile hadn't aged a day.

"I know. If I had known…I would have come right away." His throat was dry and his voice sounded strange to his ears.

Peggy smiled weakly, and held out a wrinkled hand to him. "Come here, Steve."

He crossed the room to her and immediately grabbed her hand, kneeling down next to her.

"I'm sorry, Peggy. I'm so sorry I'm so late," he said as he bowed his head and tried to fight the tears he knew couldn't be stopped.

Her small frail hand gently squeezed his. "There's nothing to apologize for. When I saw your face in the paper, I was overjoyed. You get a second chance to live your life, Steve. This world needs more heroes like you, especially now. This is your destiny."

"My destiny was supposed to be you," he murmured, keeping his head down.

Tears that he couldn't see were filling Peggy's eyes. "I considered myself so lucky to have met you, Steve Rogers. But I want you to know that I lived my life and it was a good one."

He lifted his face to look at her. "Were you married?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly

Peggy nodded. "Yes. To a wonderful man. He reminded me of you sometimes," she paused, smiling at the memory. "I lost him a few years back, and decided to go back to my old name. Good thing I did, too, or you may not have been able to find me."

Steve was quiet for a few moments, just looking at her. Somehow, beyond the wrinkled face, he could see her. He could see his beautiful girl.

"I'm glad you were happy," he said softly, holding her hand in his like a precious treasure.

"Thank you. And now it's time for you to be happy. We've finally been gifted with this chance to say goodbye. There's nothing else for you to do now but go out and live your life. Be a hero. Save the world. It's what you were born to do, Steve."

"It's hard, Peggy. I don't know this world. I feel like a fish out of water. I can't… I can't _breathe_ here."

Her gaze softened. "You'll eventually adjust to this world, and you'll thrive. I know it."

"I missed out on seventy years of my life."

"And now you get the chance to live seventy more years. Don't look at it as losing time. Look at it as the chance to live in a different time, with different people. A fresh start."

Steve shook his head, smiling fondly at her. "You always did have a way with words."

She laughed loudly at his comment, which unfortunately led to a rather frightening coughing fit. His hand tightened on hers as she struggled to regain her breath.

When she finally calmed down, she looked at him with hard eyes.

"I want you to leave now, Steve. I want you to leave and I don't want you to come back. We've had our goodbye. But before you go, you need to promise me one thing."

Steve swallowed hard. He didn't want to leave, but he knew it was time. "And that is?"

Peggy raised her hand, placed it on his cheek, and looked steadily into his eyes. "I need you to promise to let me go. Let me go, let Bucky go, let Howard go. And don't look back. Just walk out that door, take a deep breath, and carry on."

He opened his mouth to protest. What was she saying? He could never do that. He could never let go. He could never stop mourning the life with her he'd lost, or the death of his best friend he felt he'd caused.

"I… I can't," he croaked, the tears finally spilling down his face.

"Steve, listen to me. I know you. You're strong enough to handle this world, and you're certainly strong enough to do it without me. You need to make this promise. If not for yourself, do it for me."

A long silence extended between them as he bowed his head and contemplated what she was asking. She waited patiently, stroking his soft blonde hair and smiling sadly at him. Finally, he raised his head to look at her.

"I promise… to let you go." Each word hung as heavy as an anvil in his chest, but he said them anyway. He said them for her.

"It has been an honor, Steve Rogers." Her eyes were shining with tears, but she had never looked so happy.

He leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "It's been a pleasure, Miss Carter."

And with that, he got up and left the room. He didn't look back.

* * *

Tony had been mentally steeling himself for what his teammate would look like when he came back out of the room. He had overheard snippets of the conversation, but not enough to truly understand what had happened. He had no idea what he was going to do or say, or if he should even do or say anything.

But when the door opened and Steve's face appeared, he knew. And after he had calmly closed the door behind him, Tony was there just in time to catch his comrade as he fell to the floor.

Tony Stark wasn't a hugger. Tony Stark wasn't a comforter. But Tony Stark wasn't a complete asshole, either.

Captain America was crying on the white tile floor of a nursing home like a small, heartbroken child. And when an American hero was crying on the floor in front of you like that, you did not just walk away and leave him to his misery.

You stayed, placed a hand on his back, and told him, "Just let it all out."

So Tony stayed.


	4. 1943

There were some things that he could never tell anyone. There were some things that were just too private, too personal.

Like the time he found a baby bird with a broken wing up on their roof and tried to nurse it back to health. How he'd cried when his father found it in the little box in his room and threw it out the window. How he had run down to see the little broken body on the sidewalk. How the little bird's eyes were still open.

He must have been around eight years old when it happened, and the little bird still appeared in his dreams every now and again.

No one knew the story, and no one ever would. Tony Stark didn't appreciate people knowing his weaknesses. He didn't appreciate people seeing beyond the front he put up. It was there for a reason, after all.

There were some memories that were meant to stay as such. Because the minute the words left his lips, he would be validating the event. It would be real, because someone else knew about it. As far as he was concerned, there had never been a little bird with a broken wing.

And as he watched Steve Rogers sobbing on the floor outside Peggy Carter's room, as broken as the tiny feathered body on the sidewalk those many years ago, the two tears Tony Stark shed ceased to exist the moment he hastily smeared them away.

* * *

The car ride back was completely silent. To Steve's utter relief, Tony didn't ask any questions or bother with idle chitchat. In a situation like this, especially with two grown men, talking would be too much work.

In fact, Tony's silence was more precious to Steve than any words could have been. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to explain what he was feeling, because no amount of words could possibly convey the deep, resonating ache he felt throughout his entire body. The ache of letting go of everything he once knew.

He wondered what Tony thought of him now. The promise he had once made to himself that he would never cry in front of Tony Stark was now blown to bits, and he couldn't take it back. His weakness had been seen.

On any other day, he would have been absolutely humiliated. But today was different. His emotions had been sucked dry and he wasn't sure when he'd ever be able to feel anything but despair.

* * *

Tony parked the car and the two men walked to the elevator silently. The ride was long and slightly tense, but it wasn't of much consequence to either of them.

It was only when they reached Steve's floor that Tony chose to speak. Steve had just gotten off the elevator, so Tony pressed the hold button to keep the doors from closing in his face. "I don't really know much about what to do in these types of situations, but I do know that Pepper would ask you something like 'Is there anything you need?' So, is there anything you need?"

Steve was quiet for a moment before he turned to look at Steve. "Some alcohol would be nice."

Tony snapped his fingers. "Alcohol, wonderful suggestion. I know just what to get. Wait here."

He jammed his thumb against the button for his floor, and when the doors opened he headed straight to his best liquor cabinet.

"JARVIS, wine glasses," he instructed as he searched through the array of bottles. Aha. He found it near the back, still unopened: an elegant bottle of 1943 Chateau Mouton Rothschild. It had been a gift from an overseas investor and he'd been saving it for a special occasion.

Assisting Captain America in mourning the loss of his beloved 1940's life seemed like a pretty good reason to pour a glass or two.

"Your glasses, sir," JARVIS chimed, two glasses rising up from the countertop. Tony grabbed them along with the bottle and headed back down to Steve's floor.

He found Steve standing awkwardly in the living room area. He had taken off his jacket and by the looks of his embarrassed expression had hidden it somewhere so he wouldn't be forced to stare at it. Tony didn't mention it.

"Dinner is served," he proclaimed as he poured the wine into the two glasses. Steve sat down on the couch and examined the bottle.

"1943. Good year," he said softly.

Tony handed his teammate a glass and held up his own. "To 1943," he said, clinking his glass against Steve's, who smiled sadly before downing the entire drink. Tony's eyes widened a bit (he knew that alcohol didn't affect Steve, but it was still weird to see someone like him throw back a glass of wine) but he said nothing as he refreshed the drink.

In hindsight, he had thought that he'd just stick around for a few glasses of wine and then leave Steve to his thoughts. But he certainly didn't expect his fellow Avenger to get as chatty as he did. Whenever Tony would think about leaving, Steve would start saying something and he felt obligated to stay.

But it actually wasn't all that bad. It turned out that Steve Rogers was a very eloquent storyteller. Tony sat and listened attentively as the man went on and on about the war, his friend Bucky, meeting Peggy, and his days before the super soldier serum. He even suffered through some stories about his own father, and what a good and brave man Steve thought he was.

Tony realized about halfway through the rambling that this was a side of Steve that no one else had seen before, at least in this decade. There was a light in his eyes as he talked, a light that Tony recognized. It was a light that could only come from the wonderful and secure feeling of being home. And it made sense, because these memories were his home.

What must it be like, to have to say goodbye to the time you called home? To say goodbye to all of the people you loved, and to all of the things the way you knew them? Tony couldn't imagine. He knew what it was like to say goodbye to a former life, but at least he was in the same time period.

So that's why he listened. He knew that today was Steve's last day living in the past. And by telling Tony all of his stories, he was validating their existence. He was ensuring that someone would know they had happened.

And by leaving his memories with Tony, he could feel better about letting them go.

* * *

Steve woke up on the couch to the harsh and blinding light of sunshine.

"JARVIS," he croaked, hastily covering his eyes, "Blinds!"

"Right away, sir," the robotic voice replied. Grey blinds lowered to cover the windows and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

He looked around at the room. Tony was nowhere to be found, but his presence was certainly apparent. Two empty wine glasses sat on the glass coffee table and the empty bottle of Chateau had rolled under the couch.

After picking up the mess, Steve decided to head to Tony's floor. He wanted to say thank you, and try to gauge just how much of a fool he'd made of himself last night after his sudden burst of talkativeness.

When he made it up to Tony's apartment, he was surprised to see Pepper Potts arriving through the elevator.

"Good morning, Miss Potts," he greeted her. She looked up in surprise and smiled.

"Good morning, Steve. How are you?" she asked cheerfully, setting her briefcase down on the dining table and opening it to examine some papers

He smiled grimly and walked to the table. "I'll be honest with you and say that I've been better, ma'am. But I really wanted to thank you for setting up the meeting with Peggy. It meant a lot to me."

Pepper's eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at Steve in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Steve blinked a few times, unsure of what exactly she was confused about. "Um… The meeting at the nursing home, with Peggy. Tony told me how you arranged everything. I was thanking you for setting it up for me."

She was silent for a few moments, and then looked up at him with a strange expression on her face.

"Steve, I was out of town for a conference all week. I never set up a meeting for you."


	5. A Brand New Briefcase

_Everything we had, everything we did,  
Is buried in dust,  
And this dust is all that's left of us._

They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, both trying to reconcile themselves with the truth that hung thickly in the air.

"Shit," Pepper whispered to herself as she closed her briefcase.

Steve's head snapped up. "Ma'am?"

She blinked a few times, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. There were tears in her eyes. Steve immediately crossed the room to her, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her arm.

"Miss Potts, are you all right?"

Pepper turned away, sniffing softly. "I'm fine, Steve. Just… Please don't tell Tony I'm back. I need to go… run an errand."

And before he could say another word, she had walked to the elevator and disappeared.

If he had been paying attention, he may have been able to foresee what was about to happen. There were clues – small, but there nonetheless. The cheery greeting. The tight outfit. But most glaringly, the briefcase – not the designer briefcase Tony had given her last Christmas, which Steve had never seen her without. A brand new briefcase.

But these things, unfortunately, took a far-away backseat to the main issue at hand: Tony had lied. Pepper hadn't set up the meetings. It had all been one convoluted cover-up. And Steve wanted to know why.

He was outside of Tony's bedroom before he could even think to move his feet. After a round of agitated knocks, he heard a groan and the door opened.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Tony asked groggily, leaning against the door and practically drooling on it in exhaustion. His eyes were red and his hair was sticking up in about ten different places.

"We need to talk," Steve replied, pushing open the door and walking into Tony's bedroom.

It was certainly the biggest room on the floor, full of expensive-looking black leather furniture and three different desks piled with mechanical odds and ends Tony no doubt tinkered with in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. The bed was absolutely gigantic, matched only in size by the plasma screen on the wall in front of it. Even though Steve had come here on a mission, he couldn't help but be a bit mystified by the modern grandeur of the room.

"This couldn't wait? It's 7:30 in the morning, Steve. We stopped drinking about two hours ago," Tony complained, flopping onto his kingly bed.

Steve walked over and looked down at Tony pointedly. "I know that Miss Potts didn't set up the meeting with Peggy." He might as well just get straight to the point.

Tony bolted up from the bed, looking at Steve quizzically. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She—" he suddenly remembered what Pepper had asked him to do, and hurriedly thought of a cover, "She called just a few minutes ago, and told me to tell you that she'd be home soon. When I thanked her for finding Peggy for me, she informed me that she'd been in a conference all week and hadn't had anything to do with the meeting. Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie… I stretched the truth. There's a difference," Tony replied briskly, hopping up from the bed and heading to one of his desks. Steve intercepted him.

"It was you. You set up the meeting for me."

Tony pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows, no doubt trying to think of something snarky to reply with. He apparently couldn't come up with anything, because all he did was nod curtly and say, "Yes. It was me."

"Why?" Steve asked as Tony pushed past him and began tinkering with some of the parts on the desk.

"Why what?" Tony asked innocently, grabbing a nearby screwdriver.

"Why did you find Peggy for me? What was in it for you?" Steve was getting angry at Tony's indifference to his questions, and smacked the screwdriver out of his hand with such force that it flew halfway across the room.

Tony, now thoroughly annoyed, turned around to face Steve. "What the hell is your problem? You get locked in the freezer this morning?"

Steve tried not to let the hurt he felt at Tony's jab show on his face, but the memories of the ice were too overwhelming. "My… My problem-" he sputtered, "is that you lied to me, and you won't tell me why! Why would you do this for me? You've made it very clear to me that I am the last person on earth you would ever want to go out of your way for."

"Why is it such a big deal?" Tony asked in exasperation, again trying to move past his steaming comrade. Steve blocked the way.

"It's a big deal because you don't do nice things, especially for me!" Steve's voice had risen to a frightening decibel level and he was sure the entire tower could hear the argument.

"My GOD, that's it!" Tony shouted, giving Steve a forceful shove out of the way. He was so caught off guard that his super strength failed him and he fell to the floor in surprise.

"Do you really want to know why I did it, you obnoxious and ignorant little do-gooder?" Steve was silent and cast his eyes to the floor as Tony continued yelling, "I did it for my father! I did it because it's what Daddy would have wanted! When he wasn't too busy getting drunk or working in his lab, he told me stories about you. And I grew up with the image that he gave me – Captain America, the courageous and selfless war hero that he had admired and loved, arguably more so than his _own son._ So when I saw you sulking around day after day, miserable because you didn't have the balls to let go of your past, I decided to put an end to your little pity party. I looked up Peggy, found out she was alive, and set it all up, so that you could finally go back to being the Steve Rogers my father told me stories about. So there you go, _Captain._ There's your reason."

Steve got up off the floor, feeling terrible. Tony's intentions had been completely honorable. He had truly been trying to do something kind, and now Steve had forced him to dig up all sorts of unpleasant memories about his relationship with his father.

"You know, you're pretty unbelievable." Tony had gone to retrieve his screwdriver and kept his gaze glued on it as he continued talking, "You claim to be this great guy that's nice to everyone and would do anything for his team, but you're just as selfish and judgmental as the next person. And you know what really puts me over the edge about that? If something happens to you, _everyone_ is going to come to your funeral and cry and mourn you. But if something happens to me, people aren't going to actually _want_ to come – they're only going to show up because they feel obligated to."

"That's not true—" Steve began, but Tony shook his head.

"Would you please just leave? I'm tired and hung-over as fuck, and I'm not interested in anything else you have to say."

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to fix this, and make things right again. Tony had done so much for him these past few days, and he hadn't truly realized it until this very moment. He had gone through the trouble of finding Peggy, and had gone through even more trouble covering up his good deed. He had stayed up all night patiently listening to endless ramblings about Steve's old life. He had even opened up that nice glass of wine, though he must have known that Steve physically couldn't get drunk and could only pretend.

Tony Stark had been making a real effort to be a friend to him, and Steve had been too self-absorbed to even notice.

But since he knew he wasn't welcome, he turned around and left without a word.

* * *

Tony was furious. He was furious at Steve, furious at his dead father, and furious at the world. He had tried to do a good thing and he'd been completely misjudged. Why even try, then?

He wouldn't, he decided. He wouldn't even bother anymore. If this was how his kindness would be received, there was absolutely no point.

Steve Rogers was as good as dead to him. Captain America? Please. More like Captain Asshole. After all he had done for him! Listening to his insufferable stories, pouring his wine, letting him snot all over his favorite jacket… Unbelievable.

If he never saw that blue-eyed bastard again, it would be too soon.

"Tony?"

His gloomy mood immediately lightened as he turned to see Pepper standing in the doorway.

"Your timing could not be more impeccable." He grinned and walked over to give her a hello kiss. But before he could even lean in, she put a hand to his chest.

"Tony… We need to talk."

His arc reactor started to feel funny in his chest. "Okay. About what?"

Pepper pursed her lips, tears welling up in her eyes. "Tony, I'm so sorry…"

"What are you sorry about? What's wrong?" He rubbed her arms comfortingly, looking at her in concern.

"Tony, I… met someone else."

And it was in that moment, as Tony's hands dropped limply to his sides, that the unthinkable occurred:

He suddenly wished that Steve hadn't left.


	6. Shutting Down

_You just get used to living in fear,  
Or give up when you can't even picture your future._

She stood in the rain, holding her unopened umbrella limply in her hand, watching as the cab driver loaded her bags into the trunk. She'd promised to come back for the rest of it, but Tony would just have it sent to her. She knew he never wanted to see her again. And she didn't blame him.

This hadn't been what she wanted. She loved Tony. She loved him with everything she had, with every bone in her body. But over the past few months, she had come to terms with something she'd never had the bravery to face.

Tony Stark was broken. He was broken beyond repair, and she'd been trying to fix him since the day he'd hired her. She hadn't understood why she was always so exhausted, and why she cried whenever she knew he wasn't around. Now it all made sense.

She had run herself into the ground, trying to convince him that he was worthy of love and that he was truly a good man. But the wounds his father had left behind had cut him too deep. And no matter how many times she tried to bandage them up, they just keep bleeding.

These were things she truly hadn't realized she was doing—attempting to save Tony Stark had become an unconscious action, a daily ritual. But then she met Daniel, and the fog lifted and she saw what her life had become.

He was handsome, sweet, and incredibly charismatic. He made her laugh and had exceptional taste in clothing and wine. She felt so _light_ around him, which had made her realize how incredibly heavy her heart had become over the past few years.

And as she spent more time with this new man, she'd realized something else: it wasn't just how broken Tony was. It was also the fact that she'd had to become accustomed to the possibility of him not waking up one morning. Of him not returning from a mission. She'd had to prepare herself everyday to lose him.

That shouldn't be her life. She wasn't strong enough to live that day in and day out. Not anymore. She couldn't save him, physically or mentally. She wasn't enough—he needed more.

So she chose to leave him. There was no other option. She'd been brief, saying she'd met someone else during the conference and was moving to Massachusetts to be with him. She spared him the details (like how she'd actually been seeing Daniel for months and had just made up the conference as an excuse to go visit him) but made sure she was firm, and that he knew she wasn't coming back.

It had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, especially because of what Steve had said to her that morning. Tony had said that she'd set up a meeting with Peggy Carter, the woman Steve had loved. But she hadn't done it. She hadn't even known the woman was still alive, and she knew Tony well enough to know that he'd only lied to cover up the fact that _he'd_ done it. He'd done an unbelievably and uncharacteristically sweet thing for Steve, who he could hardly stand. It was just another thing she loved about Tony—he always chose the most unpredictable moments to do something good.

Everything would have been so much easier if he'd been an asshole. If he screamed at her, or swore at her, or even hit her. But he didn't. He didn't look at her. He didn't say a word. He didn't even ask why.

She hated herself. She should have said more. She should have explained. But it seemed that Pepper Potts, the brilliant wordsmith that had won over 30 poetry competitions back in high school, was at a loss for what to say. How could she possibly explain it to him, anyway? How could she find the words to say how much of herself she had lost from loving him? There weren't enough words in the world.

There was only one thing she could say to him, to try to make him understand. She had scrawled it on a note before she left, leaving it on the desk in his lab where she was sure he'd find it. Maybe someday, what she had written would make sense to him.

The cabbie had finished loading her things, so she climbed into the backseat and took out her cellphone. Each number she pressed physically pained her, but she dialed anyway.

It was only after she'd told Daniel she was on her way and hung up the phone that she let herself cry.

* * * 

He was shutting down. The darkness that haunted him at night was enclosing around him on all sides and he was losing his breath.

She'd always been there to hold him when this happened. Her warm breath in his ear whispering "I'm here," had been the only force able to dissipate the blackness. The blinding memory flashes of a dark cave, the stinging pain in his chest—all of it disappeared the second he felt her arms wrap around him.

But now she was gone, and he was consumed by the nightmares in a way he'd never been before. And as he closed his eyes, his breath growing shorter and shakier by the second, he wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep and never wake up.

* * *

It still remained a mystery how exactly Steve had known. He still couldn't explain it, even to himself.

He'd been sitting on the highest fire escape he'd been able to find, trying to sort out his thoughts. The fact that it was raining torrentially was of no consequence to him. He was too upset with himself to even care.

But suddenly, with no visible explanation, he was hit with a jarring onslaught of panic that completely scrambled the various apologies he had been rehearsing in his head, and before he knew it he was hopping off of the fire escape and jumping 100 feet down to the pavement. An alarm was going off in his head, an alarm that he didn't understand but nonetheless obeyed as he practically ripped the door to Tony's garage off its hinges.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. His first instinct was to head to Tony's apartment, but his super soldier speed changed direction at the last minute and ended up practically flying him to his lab. The door was locked, as he had expected, so he reached out a hand and shattered the glass. Once inside, he began looking around the room frantically, searching for a clue to explain the desperate alarm sounding in his head.

And then he saw the note lying on Tony's work desk.

_Tony-_

_I know there isn't anything I can say to make you forgive me, but I hope someday you'll understand that you deserve more than me. I want you to have the chance to find the person that can give you what I couldn't._

_I wish you every happiness._

_Always,_

_Pepper_

No. This couldn't be happening. Pepper had left. Pepper had left, and Tony… Tony!

The realization seeped into Steve's veins and made his blood run cold. He ran up the stairs to Tony's apartment like his life depended on it, and found exactly what he had been dreading.

Tony was sprawled on the floor, limp and unmoving. There was no blue light in the middle of his chest.

And the core to the arc reactor, the only protection Tony Stark had from the shrapnel constantly trying to pierce his heart, was nowhere to be seen.


	7. It Would Have Mattered

It was hours after the incident, and Steve still felt like all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He childishly wished he had kept his old inhaler, solely for comfort in this moment of breathlessness.

The high-pitched beep of the monitor was steady, and his muscles were tensed for the moment it picked up speed, should such a moment come.

He hated this room. He hated the white of the walls. He hated himself. But most of all, he hated the shrapnel in Tony Stark's chest.

When Steve had found his body, absent of the arc reactor core, something inside of him had kicked into gear. Some sort of deep-rooted awareness had led him to the glowing core, which had rolled out of Tony's hand when he collapsed. He had sensed the object underneath the couch, and had wasted no time in slamming it back into Tony's chest.

If he'd been one minute later, Bruce had informed him, the shrapnel would have penetrated Tony's heart and he would have died instantly.

One minute later.

_One. Minute. Later._

But Steve's super soldier abilities, reacting in an urgent situation, had been able to reach Tony in time. Bruce also explained that the alarm Steve claimed to have heard in his head was the result of something the serum provided him with—the heightened consciousness of what was occurring in his environment. He tried to explain it in length to Steve but the medical terminology was lost on him. It didn't really seem like a good enough explanation to him anyway, because it had felt like something beyond science—almost like he'd been connected to Tony in that moment.

And all he could think about was what would have happened if he had been a minute later. He should have gone to the apartment first, he knew that now—but what if he hadn't gone anywhere? What if he'd just continued to sit out on that fire escape and feel sorry for himself? Tony Stark would be dead. He'd be dead, and all the careful lines Steve had rehearsed would have been delivered to a lifeless body in a casket.

Tony was laid out in Dr. Banner's lab, and he stopped by every so often to see how things were going. Since he seemed to know so much about technology, Steve knew that Dr. Banner would be the man to call after he had gotten the arc reactor lit up again.

After a thorough examination and x-ray, Bruce had informed him that Tony would be fine. The shrapnel had gotten very close, but not close enough. Steve had seen to that.

"You saved his life. You know that, right?"

Steve didn't say anything. He didn't feel like he had saved anyone. He didn't feel like he had done anything even remotely heroic. In fact, his earlier actions most likely had played a role in Tony's decision to end his life.

The one time Tony Stark decided to do a good and altogether decent thing, the recipient of his deed had screamed at him and the woman he loved had left him.

Of course he felt like he had no one. Of course he felt no desire to keep going. And worst of all, he'd done nothing to deserve it.

Tony suddenly mumbled something and Steve shot up in his chair, straining to hear.

"Where…" Tony breathed, slowly opening his eyes and blinking against the harsh fluorescence, "Where am I?"

Steve scooted up his chair to the bed and tried to explain in the gentlest way possible. "You're in Dr. Banner's lab. You… You took the core out of your arc reactor, Tony."

He watched as it all came flooding back to him, and Tony's head slowly sank into the pillows.

"Pepper left."

Who knew that two simple words could carry so much pain? And who knew, for that matter, that Tony Stark's eyes were even capable of producing tears? Steve had to look away.

"Tony… I know this is hard, but—"

"What the hell are you even doing here, Rogers?" Tony's rage at their earlier argument had come back full swing and the tears in his eyes gave way to fire. "As I recall from our last chat, you were pretty busy hating me for trying to reunite you and your 92-year-old girlfriend."

"I'm sorry." The words were out of his mouth before he could even start to mentally rehearse his speech. "I'm so sorry, Tony. I was a jerk to you and you were only trying to help me. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I should have trusted you."

There was a long silence as Tony digested Steve's words. "No. You should have left me there to die."

"God, don't start this again!" Steve bolted up from his chair so fast that he knocked it over. "Tony, if you had died, people would have come to your funeral. People would have cried. People would have mourned you. And you should know damn well that they would have showed up because they cared about you, and not because it was some sort of twisted obligation. _I_ would have come to your funeral! And not because I felt I had to, but because I would have wanted to say goodbye to you. Because you are _worth_ something to me. Because somewhere along the line, I started to consider you as more than just a teammate. I consider you a _friend._ And when I saw you there, lying on the floor about to die, I just about died too!" Steve was shouting now, and Tony's eyes were wide.

Steve righted the chair and slowly sank back into it. "Your death wouldn't have been just an inconsequential event in my life, Tony," he said, suddenly quieter, "It would have _mattered._ "

There was a long, tense pause as Steve put his head in his hands and stared at the ground. Tony sat and gaped at him, attempting to scientifically analyze what had just happened.

"… Thanks," he finally muttered, looking away from Steve and picking a spot on the wall to focus on.

Steve looked up at him curiously. " _Thanks?_ Really? That's all you have to say?"

Tony cast him a sidelong glance. "What? Do you think you deserved more after being such a jackass to me? Rogers, just because you saved my life and made an impassioned speech about friendship doesn't mean you get any special treatment."

Laughter bubbled out of Steve's lips before he could stop it. Tony Stark and his infamous wit were clearly back. And soon, the dopey grin on Steve's face proceeded to get Tony chuckling too, and before they knew it they were both laughing so hard that absolutely no sound was coming out of either of their mouths. This was the precise moment Bruce chose to come into the room, and he stopped short in understandable confusion at the peculiar sight.

"Is everything okay in here?" he asked in bemusement.

Steve and Tony both paused and looked at each other.

"Just two friends having a laugh," Tony explained matter-of-factly, and Steve couldn't help but smile.


	8. In Pepper's Place

"Thank you."

"For what?" Tony looked over at Steve quizzically as he pressed the button to call the elevator.

"For finding Peggy. For driving me there. For staying while I…" he trailed off, obviously not willing to finish the sentence. Tony nodded and shifted awkwardly.

"Don't mention it."

The elevator finally arrived and Steve hopped in, pressing the number for Tony's floor but not his own. Tony noticed but didn't say anything.

Once they stepped inside Tony's apartment, he headed straight for his bedroom. "Cap, I appreciate you escorting me to my quarters, but I'm fine. You don't have to stay."

But as he came to the doorway, he stopped short. He suddenly realized, his chest beginning to ache, that everything in the room reminded him of Pepper. The comforter she had picked out. Her favorite sweater draped over the black leather armchair she loved to sit and read in. The pain pills she kept on the nightstand in case he woke up in need of them. He could practically feel the gaping absence she'd left behind, and found himself incapable of even entering the room.

Steve walked up behind him, and as if reading his mind, asked softly, "Want some help packing?"

A quick nod from Tony was all Steve needed. "Okay, we'll need boxes."

"JARVIS, do we have boxes somewhere?" Tony asked, turning away from the room.

"Yes, sir, down in your laboratory," the robotic voice of the A.I. replied, "I will have them sent up to you."

Tony turned and saw that the elevator doors had opened, revealing a 4-foot-tall pile of cardboard. The pile proceeded to slide out of the elevator and glide across the floor until stopping directly in front of him. His favorite little bot, whom he fondly called "Jeeves," emerged from behind the pile and beeped a few times in greeting before holding out a roll of tape to Tony.

"Thank you, Jeeves," he said, patting the little robot on the head affectionately before grabbing the tape and a few of the boxes.

"Heads up," Tony called to Steve, who was waiting outside the doorway. He caught the two unfolded boxes and tape that Tony threw to him with incredible ease and disappeared inside the room.

After spending a few minutes in the hallway mentally preparing himself, Tony followed him inside. He was pleased to see that Steve had already assembled the boxes, and the sweater was gone.

"All right, what do you want me to start on?" he asked when he saw Tony come through the door. Tony stared at him dumbly, unsure of what to even tell him to do. Her very essence hung in the room, and that certainly couldn't be packed up in a box.

Steve seemed to understand, and his expression softened. "Okay, how about this." He walked out of the room and returned a few seconds later carrying a stack of pale yellow Post-Its. Tony briefly wondered where he had gotten them, because Tony Stark certainly had no need for Post-It notes, but he dismissed it as Steve handed him the stack. "Stick these on the things that you want gone, and the places where her belongings are. I'll take care of the rest."

Tony nodded numbly and began slowly scanning the room. He noticed that Steve had quietly slipped out to give him some privacy.

He found himself marking so many things that he began to worry he'd be sleeping in a completely empty room by the end of the night. He marked all of the paintings, because she'd carefully picked out each and every one. He marked the comforter, the throw pillows, the rug, and the reading lamp, which she'd ensured all matched perfectly. He marked her closet, her dresser, and the armchair. He marked the photos of them she'd so lovingly displayed on the mantle of the fireplace, placing the notes directly on her smiling face and feeling absolutely no remorse about it.

And then he took out a small velvet box from his bedside drawer, and marked it with shaking hands before placing it on the bed.

He sat there for a few moments in utter silence before Steve hesitantly popped his head into the room.

"Done?" he asked, looking around the room and trying not to look surprised at the incredible amount of yellow notes (but failing miserably).

"Yeah. I'm done."

* * *

Steve couldn't help feeling a little guilty about rifling through Pepper's things. In any other situation he would have balked at the idea of committing such a gross invasion of privacy, but he knew that Tony needed this room emptied of her presence. And, truthfully, he felt that he owed a debt to Tony Stark – with his guidance Steve had been able to move on from his old life, and now Tony needed help to do the same.

He started with the clothes. Pepper had thankfully taken all of her delicates with her, but he was still forced to rifle through her drawers and empty them, which he did as quickly as possible. He folded everything as neatly as he could and sorted them to best of his ability. What to do with the clothes in her closet was a bit of a challenge because he didn't want to wrinkle everything, but in the end he decided to slip them into garbage bags and hope for the best.

He labeled every box and carefully wrapped up her little trinkets and jewelry in scarves or shawls. He moved the armchair, the lamp, the paintings, and the rug into the huge storage room at the end of the hall that Tony used for broken robots and machinery, and packed up the throw pillows and comforter in case Pepper wanted them.

The hardest thing for him was the packing of the "Tony Box." There were some things he knew that Tony shouldn't give back to Pepper. All of the pictures that were displayed on the mantle, the clothes she had bought for him, and especially the little velvet box.

It was the last thing he packed, and Steve hadn't been able to help himself and had opened the box to take a peek. Inside he found an absolutely breathtaking engagement ring, and the description wasn't even an exaggeration on his part, as he was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing when he saw it.

It wasn't garish or ridiculously large as he had expected – It was a simple, elegant gold band with a square diamond. He could practically see Pepper's name written all over it. Tony had taken great care to find this particular ring for her, that much was clear.

Steve's heart ached as he gazed at the glittering diamond. Peggy would have loved a ring like this. How was it that he and Tony had both been so unfairly robbed of a future with the women they loved? What exactly had they done wrong?

He sighed and gently placed the ring on top of a suit coat Pepper had either liked or had picked out for Tony, and closed the box. He looked around the room, making sure he hadn't missed anything. It looked pretty sad and empty, but Tony's work desks were still untouched and it seemed the TV and stereo system didn't have many Pepper memories associated with them.

It would be a hard first night sleeping without her, that much Steve knew. But he hoped that Tony would eventually overcome it, like he was trying to do.

After marking the Tony Box, he brought it to the storage room and gently placed it on the armchair. The rest of the boxes he loaded onto the elevator with Jeeves, who would store them down in the basement until Pepper called with her new address.

"Hey, I finished," Steve called to Tony, who was currently lounging in the living room with a glass of scotch, watching some incredibly dull program on the History Channel about paper production.

Tony looked up and feigned an expression of disinterest, but the pain in his eyes gave him away. "All right," was all he could say, but Steve knew there was a "thank you" hidden in there somewhere.

After a short awkward pause, Tony grabbed his scotch and headed to his room. Steve followed him to the door and waited for Tony to assess his work.

He walked inside like a lost child, looking around the room as if he had never seen it before. "It looks good," he said, his voice coming out strangely hoarse. He grimaced at the sound and Steve pretended not to notice.

"Did I miss anything?"

Tony looked around again, his eyes somewhere else. "No, I don't think so."

"Okay." Steve watched Tony worriedly, waiting for some sort of indication of whether he wanted him to stay or go. "Tony?"

He watched as Tony collapsed onto the bed and put his head in his hands. Steve didn't want to leave until he was sure that he'd be okay. But how could someone be okay in a situation like this, really?

Deciding he'd just stick around for a little while longer, he walked over to the bed and carefully sat down next to his friend. The two sat there in companionable silence for a few moments before Tony emerged from behind his hands and looked over at Steve.

"You going to sleepover or something, Rogers?" A ghost of a smile spread across Tony's face and Steve felt a wave of relief. It was progress, at the very least.

"Yeah. I was thinking we could watch some movies, eat popcorn, and braid each others' hair," he replied coolly, scooting up to rest on Tony's pillows and folding his arms behind his head lazily.

Tony quirked an eyebrow, but then his face suddenly lit up with an idea. "I know exactly what we should watch. JARVIS, my DVD collection please."

"Here you are, sir," the A.I. replied as a previously unnoticeable door to the right of the flat screen swung open to reveal shelves upon shelves of DVD's. Tony hopped off the bed with a spring to his step and Steve began to get very, very nervous. What was this movie, and why was Tony so excited about it?

After a few moments of rifling through the shelves, Tony uttered a triumphant "Aha!" and emerged with an unlabeled black movie case.

"What is that?" Steve asked cautiously as Tony slipped the DVD from its container and popped it into the player. His stomach sank as Tony turned around and flashed him a toothy grin.

"Let's find out, shall we?" He pressed a button on the remote and fell back onto the bed next to Steve, his eyes glued to the screen in anticipation.

For a few moments there was just static, but then a triumphant trumpet melody blared from the surround sound speakers and Steve's mouth opened in horror as a face suddenly appeared on the screen.

And not just any face. _His face._

"T-Tony!" he sputtered, bolting up in the bed, "What is this?"

Tony grinned maliciously and settled back into the pillows. "What? You don't recognize your own face?"

"Of course I recognize my own face," Steve snapped, "What I don't understand is why it's on your television!"

"This," Tony explained, "is a three-hour documentary on Captain America: A Remembrance." He threw out his arms towards the TV dramatically as an inspirational montage of black and white shots of Steve in costume started playing.

"You're kidding me."

"I am certainly not kidding you. Shall I make the popcorn?"

"I don't want to watch a three-hour documentary on myself! This is completely ridiculous!" Steve fumed, grimacing as he watched a scene of himself dancing awkwardly on a stage with three pretty female dancers.

"You suggested this, Rogers—not me."

"I did not suggest we watch a three-hour memorial documentary about me."

"You look funny when you shoot a gun. Have you noticed that? Look at your face, Steve. Look at it. That is not an attractive face."

Steve looked at the TV, feeling slightly offended, but after a few moments of taking in the image on the screen he frowned. Tony was right. He did look funny.

"Well I'm terribly sorry Tony, let me just hop in my time machine and I'll fix that right up."

"Good. While you do that, I'll make some popcorn."

Tony got up and headed to the kitchen, leaving Steve to stare in distaste at what was happening on the screen. Television Steve was currently running in slow motion towards the camera while multiple bombs went off in the background. Real Steve was 99% sure that had never happened.

After two more agonizing inspirational montages, Tony finally returned with the popcorn. He plopped a bowl in front of Steve and lay back down onto the bed, tossing a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

"I think the part where you punch Hitler is coming up," he said in between mouthfuls.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I didn't actually punch Hitler."

The two were quiet for a moment, just watching the screen, until Steve said something that made Tony abruptly stop eating his popcorn and completely refocus his attention.

"I don't understand why everyone thought I was so great."

It was a quiet comment, but there was so much conviction in the statement that Tony couldn't help but turn to Steve, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Steve looked down at the bed, unable to hold Tony's intense stare. "I mean… I'm no more heroic than any other guy you'd find walking down the street. You said it yourself: look at how I was acting when I woke up here. I spent all day feeling sorry for myself. I went on missions and did what I was supposed to but I didn't… I didn't _feel_ anything. No call of duty, or hunger for justice. Superheroes are supposed to want to help people, and fight for what's right. All I wanted to do was die."

Tony was silent for a moment, absorbing the speech. "Listen to me, Grandpa," he began slowly, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "Back in your time, you became Captain America because you wanted to help people and do the right thing. I know you did, because if you hadn't, my father would have seen right through you. And now you're living in a world that you don't belong in, so naturally you don't feel right. But it's no coincidence that you're our leader. You may not feel it, but you're still the same person you were, with the same convictions. Just because you're a little fucked up right now doesn't make you any less of a hero."

Steve was silent for a very long time, staring at the television with misty eyes. Then he lay back down onto the pillows, folded his hands over his chest, and looked over at Tony. "Thank you."

And that was all that was said that night. Steve didn't ask Tony to stop the movie, even when Peggy's face appeared on the screen during the interview portion. They watched the whole thing, and Steve was actually glad to have seen it by the end.

He could still be that person. It wasn't too late. Just because he had to adjust to a different time didn't mean he had to lose himself. The face on the screen had seemed like a stranger a few hours ago, but now he had begun to recognize it. And for the first time in a long time, the future he'd been imagining didn't seem so bleak.

Tony had just gotten up to get something from the kitchen when Steve felt himself dozing off. He tried to fight it, but he was so exhausted from the day's events that he gave in and let himself slip under.

* * *

Tony returned with the wine and stopped short in the doorway. Steve Rogers was asleep in his bed.

It was a sight, to be certain. The bed was huge, and it actually made the beefy Captain America look rather small. But even more strange was the part of the bed he had chosen. He had quite literally taken Pepper's place—he was sleeping on the same side of the bed that she used to, in almost the exact position.

Tony sighed. What should he do now? He knew that Steve wouldn't appreciate being shaken awake, and after putting him through that insufferable three-hour documentary, Tony kind of owed him.

But he didn't want to leave, either. This was _his_ bedroom!

After another sigh and a swig of wine, he decided to just screw it and climb in. The bed was big enough that they wouldn't be bumping into each other in the middle of the night, and Tony was too tired to think of an alternative.

He would never admit to it, but part of him was relieved that he wouldn't have to sleep alone.

After quietly commanding JARVIS to shut off the lights, he slipped into bed. Sleep overtook him in a matter of minutes.

But as was all too well known, Tony Stark rarely had a restful night's sleep. It was around two in the morning that the nightmares began, and they were ten times worse than any others before. A dark cave, a shadowy face, blood all over… He screamed as pain ripped through his chest and he kept calling for help but no one could hear him, no one was there, no one but the darkness… It was closing in on him from all sides, robbing him of his oxygen and his senses, dragging him under, sucking away his very being…

And then it was gone. Tony's eyes opened to a dark room, but he wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid because of the two warm hands he felt—one on his arm, and one gently squeezing his shaking hand.

Relief flooded through him. _Pepper's still here. It was all just a bad dream._

If he had been a little more alert, he would have noticed that the hand gripping his own was much larger and stronger than a woman's would have been. And if he had bothered to glance over at the other side of the bed, he would have seen a pair of blue eyes—much too light in color to belong to Pepper—staring at him in concern in the dim light.

But unfortunately, all Tony did was fall right back to sleep.


	9. Too Late To Turn Back

It wasn't even a big deal.

Tony had nightmares all the time; it was just another symptom of some major PTSD he'd been dealing with for years now. Steve knew this much.

And when he'd woken up to him screaming, what was he supposed to do? Shaking him awake wasn't an option. Steve knew from experience that being woken up from a nightmare was never a positive experience—Clint had tried once, and the sucker punch to his face from a completely disoriented Steve was reason enough for him to never try again.

It was clear that having Pepper beside him had made the bad nights much more bearable for Tony. Of course he was afraid to sleep alone. He needed someone there to bring him back to reality, to help him surface from the black and bottomless world in which the nightmares imprisoned him.

Steve had been there, listening to Tony's screams, knowing all too well where they were coming from. And before he knew it, he'd reached out to grab Tony's arm and slipped his hand inside his, hoping to pull him back.

The screams had quieted, his breathing had evened, and it was over.

Steve leaned against the bathroom counter, gripping the sink tightly as he stared at his reflection.

What he'd done wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't.

* * *

Tony felt split in half.

On one hand, he was relieved that someone had been there, because the darkness would have overcome him had he been alone. But on the other hand, he hated that he had been vulnerable and had even needed help in the first place, _especially_ in the presence of Steve Rogers.

It was humiliating. No matter how much Steve might personally know about night terrors and what they're capable of, it didn't change the fact that he had seen too much already. He had seen Tony try to kill himself. He had seen the engagement ring, and the look on Tony's face when he realized Pepper had really left.

But worst of all, he had seen Tony slowly falling apart.

They had been spending way too much time together. But how could it be avoided, really? Who else did they have? Their teammates were all out of town or unavailable. Clint and Natasha had been sent overseas on a mission to overtake a drug lord, Thor wasn't even on the damn planet, and Bruce was working on his next big project down in his lab.

He hated to admit it, but since Pepper left, Steve Rogers was pretty much Tony's only friend. And "friend" was such a strange word to use when it came to Steve. Tony still wasn't sure he even liked the guy.

It hadn't been Pepper who saved him from the nightmare last night. He knew that when he woke up and saw who was sleeping next to him. The same person whose hand was still clutching his.

Somewhere very deep inside of him, he was touched. He was touched that Steve would care enough to move beyond their mutual comfort zones in such a way. There weren't many grown men that would hold the hand of another man, much less Tony Stark, in an emergency like that.

But part of him felt so uncomfortable with what had happened that he wanted to die. He wasn't an intimate person. It had taken months for him to even let Pepper hug him. Some days, his aversion to physical contact had frustrated him so much that he'd locked himself in the bathroom and cried.

Accepting someone's touch meant trusting them. Accepting someone's touch meant opening yourself up to them. And last night, he hadn't had that option.

But if he was being honest with himself, it hadn't even been an option. It had been a necessity, which Steve had immediately recognized.

There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but none of them made sense lined up next to each other.

"Don't ever touch me again."

…

"You didn't have to do that."

…

"I'm sorry."

…

"Thank you."

The first three lines he knew he was capable of saying, but the fourth would never make it past his lips.

He could barely _feel_ gratitude, much less express it.

That's just how Tony Stark was.

* * *

Steve couldn't lie to himself. It was a big deal, in some ways.

And even if it wasn't a big deal to him, it was certainly a big deal to Tony.

Why even pretend it was any different.

* * *

What should he even say? Should he say anything at this point?

The morning had been awkward enough. Steve had woken seconds after Tony had, and he'd immediately drawn his hand away.

There had been three seconds of uncomfortable eye contact, and then he'd gotten up and walked from the room.

Tony stayed in bed all day, trying to sort out his thoughts. Steve hadn't visited. He wasn't sure Steve was even in the building.

It wasn't as if what had happened meant more than its face value. But this "friendship" they'd created was still so fragile. Any awkward encounter could break it.

Was it already broken?

Tony didn't know.

* * *

He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like feeling like he had crossed some sort of invisible line.

Steve Rogers didn't cross lines. He respected boundaries. He respected the unwritten rules.

But didn't those boundaries cease to matter when someone was slipping away? Wasn't it more important to grab their hand before they fell?

Wasn't doing the right thing _always_ the best option?

He had been so sure of his answer until this moment.

* * *

"Hey."

Tony looked up from his computer screen to find Steve standing in the doorway.

"Hey," he returned in as normal of a tone he could manage.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are we okay?"

Tony paused.

"Yeah."

It wasn't a lie. He knew because he didn't feel the knot in his stomach that twisted when he was less than truthful.

"I'm sorry if I… did something wrong."

Tony licked his lips, trying to think of an appropriate response.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Really. I just… You… Fuck." Tony stood up and finally met Steve's gaze. "I'm only going to say this once. You hear me?"

"Huh?" Steve's brows furrowed together in confusion.

Tony sighed and rubbed at his face. Steve waited patiently.

"Thanks," Tony finally muttered, averting his gaze to the ground.

The two stood in silence for a few seconds while Steve processed what had just been said to him. Tony could only imagine the look on his face.

"You're… welcome," Steve finally replied.

And that should have been that.

But it wasn't. Something stirred in Tony's chest when he looked back up at Steve—something about his expression caught him off guard. He chanced a glance at his blue eyes, for just a moment, and saw it. A flash of recognition.

And it was in that moment that he realized Steve wasn't looking at Tony Stark. Steve was looking at what was underneath—the little boy staring at the dead bird on the sidewalk; the teenager falling asleep with a bottle of vodka clutched to his chest; the grown man crying over a bad dream in a locked bathroom. The parts of himself he had tried so desperately to hide.

Tony Stark didn't say thank you. Tony Stark didn't feel gratitude, nor express it. But the man that lived behind Tony Stark's face did.

Without even realizing it, he had taken down all of his carefully constructed walls and exposed himself. He supposed it had been inevitable. The walls had been cracking for days. He had almost expected it.

But what he hadn't expected was the way Steve was looking at him. No judgment, no pity, not even surprise was on his face. All he could see was… relief. Almost as if he had been waiting for this day for a long time.

Almost as if he was saying, "It's nice to finally meet you."

It was terrifying. Tony wanted to put the wall back up. He wasn't ready.

But he knew that it was already too late to turn back.


	10. More

The world hadn't ended after all. At least Tony's hadn't.

He had expected something cataclysmic. But Steve Rogers didn't exactly inspire destruction; he was actually the most calming influence Tony had ever had in his life.

Steve had seen him—seen him for everything he was. And nothing had blown up. No planes had fallen from the skies. No tsunamis had destroyed the city. It was like nothing of interest had taken place at all.

But Tony could feel that something had changed. How is it that one simple "Thanks," could put so much into motion? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with the Tony Stark motto: "Go big or go home."

Well, he had certainly gone big.

* * *

Things were different. Things were _so_ different now, all thanks to one little word.

"Thanks."

The word that erased all the awkwardness, repaired their fragile friendship, and most importantly, finally showed Steve the man hiding behind the egotistical, untouchable image of Tony Stark.

It had been an amazing sight, watching all of his defenses fall down. And in their place had stood a man humble enough to say thank you, and bold enough to resist the urge to run.

A part of him felt privileged to have been there, but another part of him was hopelessly confused about what it meant.

Only one thing was for certain:

He'd have to get to know Tony all over again.

For real this time.

* * *

"Hey Rogers, you hungry?"

Steve froze at the fridge. Tony grinned.

"You're a big guy, Rogers. You're not as quiet as you think."

"S-Sorry, mine is empty and I was just—"

"Just trying to steal my food," Tony finished matter-of-factly, scooting in next to Steve and peering into the freezer. "Hmmm. Ah, here we go. Let's make some chicken."

"Tony, I… I don't know how to cook," Steve confessed, running a hand through his hair bashfully. Tony laughed as he threw the frozen chicken cutlets onto the counter.

"Of course you don't. You don't even know how my digital oven works."

Steve smiled and shrugged in agreement. "That's true."

"Grab the oregano, will you? It's in that cabinet in the corner."

After a few moments of careful searching Steve plopped the spice onto the counter. "What else do you need me to do?" he asked, watching as the oil Tony had just poured into a pan bubbled from the heat of the burner.

"Unwrap the chicken and put it in the microwave. Now, the microwave is the black box on top of the—"

"I know what a microwave is, Tony."

Pretty soon, the tension had completely dissolved and they were talking like two old friends who had known each other for years. It was unexpectedly easy, Tony noticed, to fall into a pattern of cheerful interactions with Steve. He was easily impressed and easily pleased. For once, Tony felt like he didn't have to try so hard. With Pepper, it had always been too much work and not enough progress. He understood that now.

When the chicken was about halfway done, Tony badly burned his hand on the pan and proceeded to utter a string of colorful curse words that echoed throughout the kitchen. After checking that he was all right, Steve collapsed into a fit of giggles that soon moved tenfold onto Tony.

And that was when he saw it. Steve had previously been doubled over laughing, but then he'd raised his head to smile at Tony, and it hit him like a freight train. That smile. How had he not noticed it before? There was Pepper's crooked grin, right on Steve's face. His laughter and smile quickly faded away.

It wasn't concerning to him that Steve had Pepper's smile. There wasn't anything terribly unique about it. He had even found it a little childish at times.

No, what truly concerned him was that he liked it much better on Steve's face.

* * *

"Stop smiling like an idiot and grab the plates."

Steve saluted Tony jokingly before grabbing two plates from the cupboard. He was beginning to get to know this kitchen, and by extension, Tony. It was a nice change of pace to spend time with him without wanting to tear his head off.

He set the plates on the counter and Tony gently slid the chicken off of the pan. Steve's eyebrows shot up as he watched three cutlets land on his plate and only one on Tony's.

"You feeding The Hulk or me?" he asked jokingly as Tony quickly seasoned the chicken trio.

"Don't even pretend you didn't eat an entire ham the other day—I saw the bones in the garbage. You may look pretty but you eat like a truck driver," he replied flippantly, cracking a smile as he cut up his chicken.

"Hey, I can't help that I have a superhuman metabolism!" Steve sputtered, incredibly embarrassed that Tony knew about his ham binge.

"Eat your chicken, Rogers." Tony went to sit down at the table and set Steve's plate in front of the seat beside him, gesturing for him to come over.

They ate in companionable silence, Steve being sure to cut his chicken politely and resisting the urge to just stuff all of it into his mouth.

It was nice, the silence. It wasn't heavy or awkward, and it wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply two people who'd had one hell of a year, sitting and eating dinner together.

But a comfortable moment like that couldn't last. Not when it came to Steve and Tony, it seemed.

Steve had just finished his meal and was heading over to put his plate into the automatic dishwasher when it happened. Tony had just set his dishes inside and when he turned around, he bumped abruptly into Steve's chest.

They could have just moved apart and it would have been over. Simple as that. But something made them stay. Their gazes locked, their breathing stopped, and their pulses quickened in unison as if belonging to the same body.

The air was charged. Steve could feel it, like tiny strands of electrical wiring were buzzing just above the surface of his skin. And he knew Tony could feel it too.

Tony's eyes, which had previously been a locked door, were now a window to Steve. A window into everything he felt, everything he wanted, and everything he tried to hide. And as he looked into his eyes, he saw the things Tony had tried so hard to conceal were there, calling out to him.

They were more. They were more now. How much more, or what they were more than, Steve didn't know. He just knew it, as if it was some old, ancient truth that he'd always felt deep inside his soul but had just now recognized.

Tony didn't tear his gaze away. He couldn't, and neither could Steve. They stood there at a standstill for a few moments before Steve made up his mind. Tony's hands were shaking, and Steve could hear his own heartbeat drumming frantically in his ears, but he couldn't turn back now. He had to know.

He leaned in ever so slightly, waiting for Tony to flinch or push him away. Even _expecting_ him to.

But his expectations were discarded as fast as Tony's sudden move to action, as he closed the gap between them and crashed his lips onto Steve's.

It wasn't a long kiss by Hollywood standards, but it was certainly memorable. Full of desperation and an impalpable urgency, the pressure of Tony's lips on Steve's was so forceful that it was almost painful.

They pulled away as suddenly as they had met and locked gazes. Steve's hand had latched itself onto Tony's arm and Tony's hands were gripping his shoulders, and they stood there still touching, unsure of how to pull away or if they even wanted to. Steve marveled at how small Tony looked in this moment, made even more so by the naked vulnerability flickering in his eyes.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ when JARVIS' robotic voice came onto the intercom. Tony twitched away from Steve at the sound.

"Mr. Rogers, you have a guest here to see you. I've sent them up in the elevator. They said it was urgent."

A sudden burst of air rushed from Steve's mouth and he realized he'd been holding his breath through the entire experience. Tony looked like he was going to be sick. Steve backed away slowly and a few seconds later heard the elevator bell ring.

He turned around, not knowing what to expect, and his heart caught in his throat.

A young woman stepped off of the elevator, and he blinked rapidly to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Brown russet curls framed her porcelain face, and her red lips were tilted up into a tender smile.

No. It couldn't be.

He raised his gaze to meet hers and found himself staring into an incredibly familiar pair of fierce and searching eyes.

"… Peggy?"


	11. Maybe I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by Andrea Gibson's beautiful poetry.
> 
> _Maybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea_  
>  Maybe I didn't even know I was here 'til I saw you holding me  
> Give me one room to come home to  
> Give me the palm of your hand  
> Every strand of my hair is a kite string  
> And I have been blue in the face with your sky. 

Steve stood frozen in the kitchen, dumbfounded as he watched the all too familiar-looking woman approach him.

"Steve Rogers. It's such a pleasure." She extended her hand and he hesitantly grasped it, staring at her incredulously. "My name is Sharon Carter. I'm Peggy's granddaughter."

He felt a sigh of relief slip past his lips. "Uh, it's… It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." It was all he could do to even speak. He could feel Tony looking at him and he suddenly wished that Sharon were just a mirage, something in his head he had simply imagined, so that he could turn around, look Tony in the eyes, and address what had just happened.

But sadly she wasn't a mirage, and she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm sorry to come here like this, but I just had to meet you. My grandmother… Well, she isn't doing too well. I was at the nursing home all day today speaking with the doctor, and I needed to get some air and clear my head. So I came here." She paused and looked away, pursing her lips nervously. Steve noticed they weren't quite as full as Peggy's had been, and her eyes were a much lighter brown. After spending a few moments observing the ground, she met his gaze again. "I guess I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner with me tonight."

There was a long silence. Too long. Steve heard Tony clear his throat and then looked over to see him standing next to him.

"Tony Stark," he offered, extending his hand to Sharon. She hesitantly shook it, still looking to Steve for confirmation. "I think you've caught Steve here a bit off guard. I've seen pictures of your grandmother from way back when, and I must say the resemblance between the two of you is uncanny. But I'm sure he would love to join you for dinner. Why don't you wait downstairs while he changes into something more sophisticated? I'll call you two a car."

Sharon looked like she didn't want to leave, but when it was clear to her that Steve was still unable to respond, she nodded and let Tony escort her to the elevator. Steve waited until the elevator doors had closed before exploding.

"What the hell was that? You're sure that I would love to join her for dinner?" He was absolutely livid, and he wasn't going to hide it.

"I thought I was doing you a favor. She's beautiful, really. The spitting image. And she wants to talk with you. Why not go?" Tony's voice was so flippant and emotionless that something inside of Steve began to doubt everything that had occurred in the last five minutes.

"You… You think I should go? There's nothing you want to talk about? Nothing you think we should discuss?" Steve was practically begging Tony now, begging him to acknowledge—even more so than that, confirm—what had happened between them only a few moments earlier.

But it seemed he would be disappointed. "Yes, I think you should go. Have a fantastic time. And be sure she takes you somewhere nice."

And without another word or glance, Tony turned around and left the room, leaving Steve to glance after him dumbly as he attempted to process the unexpected and altogether unwanted turn of events.

* * *

It couldn't happen. He couldn't let it.

As far as he was concerned, it had been an accident. A weak moment that he wouldn't let define him.

It didn't matter that feeling that particular pair of lips on his own had been the first moment he'd felt good, truly _good,_ in months. It didn't matter that he hadn't wanted it to end as suddenly as it had. It didn't matter that every part of him was screaming to turn around when he'd walked away.

In another time, in another world, these things would have mattered. But right now, Tony wouldn't let them.

* * *

His suit jacket was a little wrinkled, but Steve was beyond caring about it. He slipped it on with a heavy heart, trying to pull himself back together.

He didn't want to go to dinner with Sharon Carter. There was too much on his mind, too much pain in his chest. But he wouldn't be rude and decline her invitation. Maybe he could even pretend that she was Peggy, and use this night to make up for lost time.

Maybe, but not likely.

* * *

Just don't think about it, he told himself.

Don't think about her reaching across the table to touch his hand. Don't think about the way his eyes will mist over when he sees the way she looks at him. Don't think about the red lipstick she'll leave on his lips.

Don't think about it.

Tony had never taken orders well, especially from himself.

* * *

She was breathtaking—he couldn't deny that. He spied her leaning against the sleek black car partway down the block, and now that his head was a bit clearer, he took a few moments to properly take her in. She wore a red dress that clung to her every curve, with a very old-fashioned neckline that kept the outfit modest. Her skin was porcelain white and her legs went on for days.

He saw so much of Peggy in her that it made his chest ache. Her dark brown hair, the color nearly an exact match, fell in gentle curls on her shoulders, and her lips were as red as a winter rose. And just like her grandmother, her perfectly arched eyebrows were slightly furrowed, as if she was constantly analyzing her surroundings. The eyes were different, however. Where Peggy's showed fierceness, Sharon's showed an undeniable tenderness. And in that moment, with his head still reeling and his heart still aching, tenderness was exactly what Steve needed.

"You look handsome," she complimented as he approached her, her red lips tugging up into a dazzling smile. He glanced at his slightly wrinkled suit coat and smiled bashfully.

"You look beautiful, Peg-" he grimaced at his mistake and hastily corrected himself, "Er, Sharon."

She smiled forgivingly as he glanced at her apologetically. "Thank you, Steve. Shall we?"

He nodded quickly, reaching out to open the car door for her. Her eyes softened at his gesture and she slipped inside gracefully. After he closed the door, he took a few seconds to look back up at the tower, wondering if Tony would even notice if he decided to never come back.

* * *

Tony watched through the window as Steve glanced up at the tower. For a moment it felt like he was looking straight at him, but the moment didn't last long. He hopped into the car and it slowly pulled away from the block. Tony followed its path until it had completely disappeared from his view. This was the part where he was supposed to chase down the car and apologize. Then Steve would get out, and it would suddenly start raining, and… What bullshit.

Steve was going to have a great time. She'll probably take him dancing, and teach him how since he'd never had the chance to learn. She'll laugh at his clumsiness, and her hair will stay perfect all night. They'll kiss goodbye, and she'll giggle at his dopey grin and gently wipe her lipstick from his face.

It would be a perfect night, because Tony would be playing no part in it.

* * *

He was trying to pay attention. He really was. Sharon wasn't a boring woman. In fact, she was sensational. Everything she said, every gesture she made, and every breath she took was filled with a sort of energy that was absolutely mesmeric to every individual she encountered.

Peggy had captivated people with her confidence and strength; Sharon captivated them with her vitality and enthusiasm. The difference between the two women's personalities was striking, but certainly not unwelcome. He liked that she was different. Having dinner with a Peggy clone would have been too painful, because no matter how much between them was similar, he'd know that it wasn't really her.

Sharon had taken him to a beautiful little restaurant on West 44th. It was very old-fashioned and atmospheric. The waitresses wore lipstick and pin curls and there was a band playing songs whose lyrics he actually recognized.

It was a very kind gesture, probably to make him feel more at home. And it did, in some ways. But in others, it just made him feel like more of a stranger, who didn't truly belong in any decade.

They had begun the evening discussing what it had been like for him to wake up seventy years into the future. She must have sensed that it was hard for him to talk about, because she'd immediately switched topics and instead started detailing the life of her grandmother. How she'd married a wonderful man and had two beautiful children, but never stopped telling stories of Steve Rogers and the many sacrifices he had made for his country, his loved ones, and the world.

Nothing Sharon told him was boring or not of interest. He loved hearing about Peggy, even though it was painful to think about her having a life without him. But as interesting and enjoyable as it was, he couldn't give Sharon his full attention. She wasn't the person he should be talking to right now. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, he knew that there was somewhere else he would rather be.

"Steve? Are you all right?" He was startled out of his reverie and looked up to see Sharon staring at him, her eyes shining with equal parts concern and curiosity. The last thing he remembered her talking about was the story Peggy had told her about the search missions sent out the week he crashed the plane.

"Erm, I… No. No, not really. I'm sorry, Miss Carter. There's somewhere I have to be."

Her eyes looked disappointed, but her lips tilted up into a cheerful smile. "All right. I'll ride with you back."

* * *

He didn't like how the apartment felt. Cold, lonely, empty. Steve had brought something to the atmosphere—some humanity, some light. And now that he was gone, it didn't feel the same. It would probably keep feeling that way, too, because he doubted Steve would ever want to set foot in it again.

So Tony poured himself a glass of brandy, turned off all of the lights, and sat in the darkness, trying to convince himself that feelings meant nothing—especially his.

* * *

It was a soft kiss on the lips, and though he was currently preoccupied with something else, it would still remain memorable. It was very sweet, very friendly, but also very purposeful, as if she was determined to make at least one aspect of this night worth his while.

She smiled as she pulled away, gently placing a hand on his face. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Steve," she whispered, running her thumb along his cheekbone before lowering her arm.

He reached out to grasp her hand tightly. "Thank you, Miss Carter. I hope the same for you."

And with that, she nodded goodbye, and climbed back into her car.

Steve looked over at the entrance to the tower as the car pulled away, bracing himself for what he would find inside.

* * *

Tony knew that getting drunk wasn't going to help anything. He'd remember everything just as clearly, and feel everything just as potently afterwards. This was a kind of pain that couldn't be numbed.

But he drank anyway, because he didn't know what else to do.

_Come back. Just come back to me._

"OW!"

Tony jumped at the sudden noise and looked around frantically. Someone was in his apartment. His blood ran cold as he realized that he was incredibly vulnerable where he was, sitting in the middle of the dark living room, and he was much too buzzed to even think about asking JARVIS to turn on the lights.

"Tony? Tony, are you in here?" Steve's voice met his ears and his fear melted away instantly.

"Steve?" Warmth flooded his chest and he got up, longing to reach out and touch Steve, to prove that he had truly come back and he wasn't just suffering from some sort of drunken delusion.

"Tony, why are the lights off?" he heard Steve coming closer, but he still couldn't see anything. He'd had JARVIS pull down the blinds, so there was absolutely no light coming from any of the windows.

"JARVIS, turn on the—"

"No, wait!" Steve's voice cut through the darkness sharply, and Tony stopped midsentence and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"What? What is it?" he asked. He could sense that Steve was much closer now, and when his reply finally came, his suspicions were confirmed.

"I want you to keep the lights off. Just for a little while." He was only a few feet away. But Tony didn't want to bridge the distance for fear of rejection, so he just stood there in the dark, listening to Steve's steady breathing and trying to regain control of his foggy thoughts.

"And why do you want me to keep the lights off?" Tony asked evenly, peering into the darkness at where he suspected Steve was standing.

"We can talk this way… without having to look at each other. We can say what we need to say, and we can just pretend that we're talking to an empty, dark room."

It was a good idea. Not being able to see Steve's face would make things a lot easier for Tony. It would make it a lot easier to reassure him that what had happened was just a mistake.

"I'll go first," Steve's voice sounded confidently through the darkness, and Tony mentally steeled himself for what he was about to hear. "I couldn't even focus on what Sharon was telling me all through dinner, I was so shaken up by what happened," he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, then continued, "So I told her that there was somewhere I needed to be, and I left. But I lied. I didn't need to be here; I wanted to be here. I wanted to be here with you, Tony. So I'm here. And what I want now, more than anything, is for you to give me a reason to stay."

It took a few moments for Tony to properly register the way Steve's voice shook at the last sentence, but when he finally did, something inside of him cracked. The dam burst open and he let the feelings overtake him. He wanted him to stay. There was no question.

He had lost so much. He had lost his father, he had lost Pepper, and through these seemingly never-ending painful ordeals, he'd lost all hope. He couldn't lose Steve, too.

A reason to stay. It had to be a good reason. A good, solid reason that would convince Steve he was serious.

After a few moments, his heart fell, because he realized that he truly didn't know what to say.

* * *

Steve listened carefully, hoping that Tony would speak up and say something. Anything.

_One reason, Tony. Just give me **one reason.**_

"I don't know what you want me to say, Steve." The sentence cut him like a knife. So this was it, then. It was over.

He began to turn away, hoping to sneak out of the room before the lights came back on. But he stopped short when he heard Tony say something. It was barely above a whisper, but Steve heard it as clearly as if it had been spoken right next to his ear. Four words that changed everything.

"… Maybe I need you."


	12. Taking The Leap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Please do not judge me too harshly for the mumbo-jumbo about Tony fixing his suit in this chapter. It probably makes like no sense, I am well aware of this—I just settled for using creative license instead of doing tedious research on the inner-workings of his suit, so please forgive me._

There had been one moment within his life where Tony Stark had felt like he understood what the word "love" meant. Just one.

And it hadn't been what anyone would have guessed it to be, either. This memory he'd stored in a special, private place inside his mind did not contain a particularly exciting or passionate moment. In fact, it was rather normal.

He'd had a rough, tiring day down in his lab trying to repair a glitch in one of his suits. It had taken him six hours because at least fifty small wires within the main skeletal frame had gotten tangled together, and he'd been forced to go through and methodically untangle each one so as not to destroy the entire structure. By the time he made it upstairs to the couch, his hands were sore, his head was pounding, and his throat was so dry it hurt to even attempt swallowing.

Pepper had walked into the room a few seconds after he'd collapsed onto the pillows, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, and sat down next to him. She'd placed the cup onto the coffee table, scooted closer and gently lifted him so that his head was resting on her lap, lightly placed the coffee into his hands, and pulled out a book. And for the next two hours, they sat this way, with Tony dozing off intermittently and taking small sips of the coffee while Pepper read her book and played with his hair.

No words had been exchanged. All she knew was that he'd disappeared for about eight hours. But he hadn't told her that his body ached or that he needed something to drink. She'd just known.

And it was in that moment that Tony had realized he truly did love Pepper, and that she loved him.

Or at least, that was what he'd thought at the time. Before she'd left.

But the important thing was that this was the only moment he could truly identify as him _feeling_ love for another human being.

And this memory only came to his mind because he was trying to place a name to what he was feeling right now.

Four words had just passed Tony's lips. Four very heavy words, loaded with meaning.

And it wasn't even that he had said them, or that he had meant them. It was the look on Steve's face.

Tony had previously been standing with his back to him, so the light from his arc reactor had done nothing to illuminate the space between them. But now they were facing each other, and he could see Steve in the pale blue light.

"You need me, huh?" He was attempting to sound cocky, but his voice was shaking and Tony knew better. Inhaling a deep breath, he watched as Steve slowly approached him, bridging the gap until there were no more than a few inches between them.

"Yeah," Tony whispered, every muscle in his body freezing as he felt Steve's warm breath hit his face.

"Maybe I need you, too," Steve murmured softly, catching Tony's gaze and holding it. They took a few moments to just stare at each other, trying to reconcile themselves with the situation they were in and the feelings that accompanied it.

And then, ever so slowly, Steve bent down and softly placed his lips on the glowing arc reactor in Tony's chest. The breath flew from Tony's lungs and he stood there, paralyzed, closing his eyes at the tender gesture and willing himself not to make a sound.

Of course, in a literal sense, Tony couldn't feel the warm caress of Steve's lips on the hunk of metal in his chest. But in a figurative sense, he could feel every second of this moment. So many people, some that didn't know him and even more that did, believed that Tony Stark didn't have a heart. They believed that the only love he felt was for money and fame, and that emotions were just another thing he was all too good at manipulating. But in this instance, with Steve's lips pressing against the glowing blue orb in Tony's chest, so gently, as if it could break at any moment…. This was the first time he felt like there was truly a heart there, beating solidly just beneath the surface.

Steve raised his head back up to look at Tony and take in his expression, but he didn't have much time to analyze because suddenly Tony's lips were crashing onto his, eager to repay him for the reminder that he had a heart just like everyone else.

* * *

It was a victory of sorts, to finally feel Tony's lips on his and know that it had been Tony's decision to place them there, not his own. His mouth moved against Tony's rhythmically, and he tried to memorize the feel and taste and shape of his lips, in case this was the last moment of peace they would have before the reality of what this was and how they felt came crashing down around them.

Steve found that Tony's lips, to no great surprise, tasted slightly of alcohol, but they were soft and smooth and delicious to him all the same. He brought his hands up to cup the sides of Tony's face, hungrily deepening the kiss until he felt as if they were both going to fall backwards.

Tony, sensing the inevitable disruption of equilibrium, latched his hands onto Steve's wrists and tugged him downwards until they found the couch. Steve lowered himself onto the pillows, never losing hold of Tony's lips. Their hands left their positions then found each other again and intertwined. Steve smiled against Tony's fierce kisses, and Tony mirrored the smile, planting a few more kisses on Steve's lips before taking a moment to pull away.

The lights were still off, which Steve figured was really working in their favor at this point. He knew Tony well enough to know that if he were growing uncomfortable with the situation, he would eventually decide that what happened in the dark would stay there. Steve couldn't exactly say that he was totally at peace with the events of the last five minutes either, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

However, just as he feared, he heard Tony sigh and saw the pale blue light of the arc reactor disappear as he turned away. "JARVIS, lights," came a soft voice, and Steve squinted as harsh fluorescence flooded his eyes.

Tony stood with his back to Steve, motionless and staring at the wall. Guilt and fear and every negative emotion imaginable were burrowing into Steve's stomach as he waited for Tony to say something.

But no words came. Instead, he turned around and placed his hand lightly on Steve's hair before leaning down to press his lips onto his forehead. Steve's eyelids fluttered closed at the gesture, and the warmth of Tony's lips lasted for a few extra seconds even after he pulled away. And then, after one long extended look, Tony smiled slightly and left the room, leaving a breathless and speechless Steve in his wake.

* * *

He stood staring into the bathroom mirror, the cold water he'd just splashed onto his skin dripping down his face and plopping loudly onto the counter.

It was time to stop living in fear, and to start living for himself. And at this moment, this was what he wanted.

He wouldn't allow it to slip through his fingers. Not just yet.

It was unrealistic and probably a bad idea, but to hell with it.

Tony Stark would take the leap, only because he knew that there would be someone else beside him on the way down.

* * *

He wasn't afraid anymore. The kiss on his forehead hadn't felt like a goodbye. It had felt more like an "I'll see you later," sort of kiss, and Steve was okay with that. After waiting for a little while, he had decided to go back down to his room to get ready for bed, because honestly, the day's events had left him completely exhausted.

As he crawled into bed, he secretly hoped that Tony would stop by, but he knew not to get his hopes up.

He had dozed off for just a few moments when a sound startled him awake. Peering in the darkness, he spied a pale blue light hovering in his doorway.

"Hey," came a soft voice.

"Hey," Steve whispered back. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I could be better, though."

Steve could almost see Tony's suggestive grin through the darkness.

"You could be better? I see."

Tony walked close enough to the bed so that the light from his arc reactor fully illuminated his features. His eyes were glinting and a playful smile was on his face. Steve returned the smile as he gently but purposefully pulled back the covers. Tony climbed in and Steve's entire face flushed as he nestled in against his chest.

"Pepper was a shitty cuddler," Tony murmured, and Steve wondered if he was actually awake or just talking nonsense in his sleep. But whatever it was, he decided not to question it, and instead tightly wrapped his arms around Tony's chest to pull him even closer.

Things were silent and still between them for a few moments, but just as he was about to drift off to sleep, he heard Tony utter a deep sigh of contentment and felt a soft, warm kiss on his arm.

And after months of identity crises, bottled rage, and emotional turmoil, Steve felt like he had finally found somewhere he belonged.


	13. Paradise

Good things can't last forever. Steve had learned that lesson too many times to count. So he was determined to make the best of this… whatever it was.

He'd woken up feeling more well rested than he had all year. Tony was still sound asleep, curled up against him and murmuring incoherent words. It was surprising to say the least, because Steve had been expecting to wake up and find that Tony had left, whether it was because of a nightmare or because he just couldn't sleep. But he had stayed all night long, and there had been no screaming or tossing and turning on his part. It had been completely peaceful.

Deciding to be a bit more forward than usual, Steve leaned down and began gently kissing Tony's ear to wake him. A low moan escaped from Tony's mouth and he turned around to gaze at Steve sleepily.

"That's not fair," he murmured, "I can't sleep with you doing that."

Steve leaned down and caught Tony's lips in a deep kiss. "Kind of the point," he murmured as he pulled away. Tony huffed in annoyance but he couldn't hide the smile on his face.

It was all incredibly surreal. It really was. A month ago, Tony was a bitter enemy that Steve could barely stand to be in the same room with. And now, the room didn't really feel right unless Tony was there. It was incredible, how fast and how much things had changed.

"Do you mind telling me why you're looking at me like that?" Tony's voice abruptly cut through Steve's thoughts and he realized that he'd been staring directly at Tony the whole time he'd been mulling over the recent turn of events.

"Because I'm happy," Steve replied simply, grinning as he propped himself up on one elbow.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You are _so_ cheesy," he said in mock annoyance. Steve laughed and Tony chuckled a bit as he sat up.

A few moments passed in silence, and Steve was about to say something when Tony reached out a hand to gently brush a piece of his hair out of his face. It was a simple gesture, but Steve noticed that the second Tony's hand touched him, the air around them suddenly felt charged, like it had that day in the kitchen. His hand brushed against Steve's forehead as he pulled it away, and the trail it left behind was hot. Steve closed his eyes at the feeling, and Tony took this as his cue to steal a kiss.

The second their lips met, Steve anchored his hand in Tony's hair and pulled him close, as close as possible, imagining he could absorb Tony through his skin and make them one utterly complete being. Tony moaned in satisfaction against Steve's mouth and wrapped his arms around his torso. His skin was flushed and warm, and Steve relished the feeling of it against his own.

He had never been this close to anyone. And if he never was again, he wouldn't be upset. Because the way he felt—right here, in this moment—was enough to last him for a lifetime.

* * *

Paradise.

Soft lips, warm skin, a hand buried in his hair, another pulling him closer… Yes. This was paradise. And though Tony had never dreamed he would experience it, especially in this way, he accepted this tiny sliver of bliss without question. This was his moment, and he was going to hold onto it until it slipped through his hands and disappeared forever, as dreams always did.

With a great deal of effort, he pulled himself away from Steve and cupped his cheek with his right hand, taking a moment to look into his eyes. The normally clear blue pools were covered with a thick mist—a mist of lust, vulnerability, and something Tony did not dare name. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a shaky exhalation of breath. A subtle flush crept across his cheeks and something inside of Tony melted away.

Tony kissed him then, fiercely, and Steve made a small sound of surprise but immediately accepted him.

"You," Tony whispered between kisses, "You, you, you…"

_You._

* * *

When Steve had first woken up from his seventy-year sleep, he'd wondered why. He'd wondered why God had kept him alive. Mostly because after his transformation, he'd had an incredibly hard time reconciling his new super soldier self with his faith.

_"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body."_

Would God be angry with him, for allowing himself to be altered in such a way? Would God still accept him if he were no longer truly human, especially because he'd been completely aware of the outcome of his decision? But this new super self had been created to help people, so did it really matter? Would God punish him, or judge him, for what had been done to his body with his full permission?

He still didn't really know. He'd always thought that if God were truly upset with someone, He would make it known.

Steve knew well enough that most people in this time, Tony included, didn't believe in God. But this, though discouraging at times, did not dissuade him from his faith. And so he'd waited for God's mighty hand to strike him down and show him that He was disappointed.

Now he knew that God had forgiven him. He knew that there was a reason that he had woken up, a reason that he had survived. And that reason was lying next to him, staring up at him with shining eyes.

This was the moment where he wanted to say everything out loud. How he'd been drowning in a terrifying and unfamiliar world before Tony had reached out a hand and pulled him out. How, for months, he had been researching ways to stop his heart. And, most of all, how Tony had saved his life simply by giving him a reason to live.

"Tony," he whispered, his voice wavering.

"Yeah?" Tony whispered back.

"I—"

"CAP? CAP? STEVE, ARE YOU HERE?"

Steve jumped at the far-off, but incredibly loud, shout of his name. He immediately recognized the yelling as Clint's, and his blood ran cold at the sharp edge of panic in his comrade's voice. He and Tony immediately jumped up and rushed to the door together, but halted as soon as they realized how strange this would look to Clint if he came bursting in. Tony, thinking fast, leaped into Steve's closet and wedged himself behind some clothes just as the door swung open.

"Steve!" Clint was out of breath and Steve's heart picked up speed as he took in his appearance: His hair was completely disheveled, his clothing streaked with blood, and his body covered in open wounds and bruises. Clint met Steve's gaze with wild, terrified eyes.

His voice came out gravelly and raw. "I need your help. Stark's, too."

"What happened? What's wrong?"

There were a few moments of silence as Clint let the question sink in. Steve could have sworn that he stopped breathing.

Finally, with an eerie calm to his voice, he replied.

"Natasha's been taken."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: And that concludes the previously-written chapters! I will be updating soon, I promise._
> 
>  
> 
> _I sincerely hope if you have read this far that you have enjoyed this fic. I welcome all comments!_


	14. Completely Outmatched

_We walk the plank with our eyes wide open._

Steve couldn’t feel his legs. His ears were buzzing and his entire body had gone cold.

“What do you mean she’s been taken? Natasha…. Natasha doesn’t get taken. She goes voluntarily, under the pretense of being taken.”

“I know.” Clint’s voice was hollow. “It’s different this time.”

“What do you mean, Clint?”

“We weren’t prepared for this mission… at all. They tracked our every move. For months. They learned how we fought, and then they—” His voice cracked and he cut off for a moment. “They designed androids, Steve. An android that fights like me, and an android that fights like Natasha. _Just_ like Natasha. We… We were overpowered.”

And suddenly the whole thing made sense. There was only one situation where Natasha wouldn’t come out victorious, and it was a situation that Steve never imagined she would have to face.

The only person Natasha Romanoff would ever lose to would be herself.

* * * 

Clint had left about five minutes ago for a private meeting with Fury, and the rest of the team was down in Dr. Banner’s lab, getting check-ups. Or Tony was, anyway.

“Your levels are good,” Bruce finally said, checking off something on a chart. Tony rolled his eyes and hopped off of the examination table he’d been forced to sit on.

“Just like I told you, _I feel fine._ ”

“It’s not about feeling fine. It’s about _being_ fine. And you’re fine.” Bruce walked away before Tony could think of a creative retort, and he looked over to find Steve standing a few feet away, suppressing a smile.

“Shut up,” Tony commanded, pointing an accusing finger at him. Steve just shook his head and leaned against the counter of a nearby lab table, shaking his head in amusement.

Damn him. He was already dressed in his suit, and as dorky as Tony tried to find the spangly get-up, he couldn’t quite look past the fact that it made Steve look good. _Really_ good.

And now that they all had to head out on this mission, who knew when Tony would be able to get Steve alone again? The thought made him ache. He knew he was being selfish, especially because it sounded like Natasha was actually in trouble, but it wasn’t like he was going to refuse to help just because he would rather lie in bed with Steve all day.

He knew that Clint was a mess. That was apparent. But Tony supposed he would be the same way, in his position. Everyone knew that Clint loved Natasha. There was no question. It was there in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her hair when she was upset, the way his eyes followed her when she left the room. She was his entire world; Tony was beginning to know the feeling well, which scared him.

What he felt for Steve was new, but that didn’t make it any less strong. The thought of not knowing where Steve was made Tony feel utterly panicked. If someone had forcibly taken him, and was holding him hostage… Well, it was unthinkable.

Tony glanced over at Steve and their eyes met. Even now, he longed to walk over and touch his face, just to reassure himself that he was all right and that he didn’t need to worry. Steve’s face held a similar expression, as if he was holding back, and it killed Tony to be this stuck. Bruce was still in the room, and Thor had been summoned and would be arriving momentarily. There would be a few seconds of alone time only if they were lucky.

“I have to make a phone call. I’ll see you two up on the helipad.” Bruce’s voice cut across the fog of despair in Tony’s mind and his head snapped around as he watched his teammate head for the stairs and disappear.

They stood still for a beat, as in disbelief that Bruce was really gone, and then Steve’s arms were around Tony. He sighed in contentment and looped his arms around his neck, inhaling the smell of fresh laundry and faint cologne that was Steve.

“I didn’t think we’d have another moment like this,” Steve whispered. Tony’s grip tightened.

“Me neither.”

“I’m scared, Tony. Natasha…”

“I know.”

“This could be bad.”

“I know.”

Steve gently pulled away and looked at Tony fixedly. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. Right?”

Tony nodded, unable to keep his eyes from straying to Steve’s lips. Sensing his gaze, Steve tipped up Tony’s chin and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his bottom lip.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything stupid or reckless. There’s no excuse for it, because now you have someone that wants—and expects—you to come home in one piece at the end of the day.”

With a smile, Tony replied, “You’re right. Bruce would be pretty devastated if something happened to me.”

Steve’s face broke into a smile. 

“Yeah. He would be.”

* * *

Clint didn’t talk for the entire flight. Thor was uncharacteristically quiet and stone-faced.

The expectation of what awaited them hung thickly in the air, so thickly that they could barely breathe.

After some thorough investigating, it seemed that every member of the Avengers could expect to face their own personal android. Everyone had an assignment, then, but they all knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Considering the varying strengths within the group, some would be much harder to take down than others. Bruce’s skin had never looked so pale.

Tony watched as Clint’s fingers twitched to the seat beside him, the seat Natasha usually occupied.

His hand stayed there until they landed.

* * *

Chaos. That was all Steve could see for miles. Smoke, rubble, and pieces of metal covered the streets, and he could smell a fire somewhere nearby.

They heard them coming before they saw them. They heard the ominous screech of metal grinding together as the ground shook with each heavy step, drawing ever closer. They were marching, and their steps were completely in sync.

They were wading into a war, and Steve knew it well.

* * *

“Is that supposed to be _me?_ ”

Tony’s dubious question died in his throat as the android came into full view, its red eyes flashing menacingly. It did look like the Iron Man suit, to be certain, but Tony was pretty sure none of his suits were rigged with explosives of that caliber.

“Tony, don’t overestimate them. Natasha was _taken,_ remember?”

Steve’s voice filtered into Tony’s busy cloud of thoughts and he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah Rogers, I got it.”

He braced himself for the attack when he heard a familiar scream of rage. Inclining his head slightly, he looked to find the Hulk where Bruce had been standing only seconds before. Tony’s blood ran cold as he followed his gaze and saw what had trigged Bruce’s transformation.

“Jesus Christ.”

* * *

For the people that thought Bruce was scary as the Hulk, they would have another thing coming if they ever saw this… _thing_ clinging to the drainpipe of a building down the street.

Steve had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t smooth or polished like the others – it was made of fractured pieces of metal, with wires sticking out all over the place. Giant green eyes eyed them hungrily from the distance, and the protruding wires began sparking furiously as it made eye contact. The group looked on with horror as its serrated mouth opened to release a mechanical roar so loud that the windows of every nearby building cracked and shattered. Steve hit the ground, pulling Clint with him and holding his shield over both of them as glass rained endlessly from the sky.

They stared there for a moment, bits of glass still hitting the shield, until the world around them quieted. Clint cautiously raised himself to check their surroundings, but was forced back to the ground as a gut-wrenching crash rocked the street beneath them.

Steve turned his head from under the shield to see Bruce wrestling with the metal monster. Within the five seconds it took for Steve and Clint to get to their feet, it had their comrade pinned to the ground. His heart stopped as Bruce turned to him, his green face absent of all rage and instead filled with unmistakable fear.

A shout from Thor forced him to look to his side just in time to see a black arrow slice through Clint’s hand.

* * *

Tony was losing, and he knew it. This Iron Man _whatever_ was kicking his ass. He continued to shoot repeatedly at the robot, but none of it seemed to be having any effect. It just stalked slowly closer towards him, deflecting every blow, its red eyes glinting as if mocking him.

He couldn't help the dark thought forming in the back of his brain. Was this how he was going to die?

* * *

Steve’s android was somewhere in the fog ahead. Familiar colors sparked across his vision in sudden bursts through the smoke – red, blue, red, more blue – as the thing zig-zagged towards him. It was so fast he could barely follow it. The only thing he could see clearly were the red eyes– the menacing red eyes that flashed every time you met their gaze. And he knew just by looking that those eyes meant to kill.

He waited expectantly, waiting for it to come charging at him through the smoke. Bruce had momentarily freed himself from the _thing,_ but Steve knew he needed help. He could hear Tony struggling, and Clint hadn’t even had time to pull the arrow out of his hand before he’d had to face down Robot Hawkeye. He’d been trying to chase down his android for what felt like hours, but it was faster than him. Much faster. It had already attacked him dozens of times, jumping out of the smoke and lunging at him before he could even prepare himself. His suit was in ribbons and blood dripped from a million cuts along his body.

Suddenly, something came slicing through the smoke and hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards with such force that the breath flew from his lungs.

His shield. God, so this was what it felt like. He fell to the ground with a sickening crunch and lay there, momentarily paralyzed. This shield felt even heavier than his – Had they used a different material? What could be more durable than vibranium?

It felt like he had broken ribs. A super soldier with broken ribs? How did that work? Could he even break his ribs? Would they heal from the serum?

He was too disoriented to think properly.

The thing was close. He could hear it nearing, its metallic feet hitting the ground at an entire impossibly and inhuman speed.

Oh, God. What if he couldn’t beat it? He’d thrown his shield once, with an only moderately satisfying crunch of metal as it made contact with the robot, and he hadn’t been able to find it again. As he stood up, he sent a silent prayer to the sky to keep the others safe, because he knew this might very well be the end.

He heard the shield scrape the ground somewhere close as the thing picked it up. He raised his bloody fists, knowing this was probably the end for him.

Never had he thought he’d lose a battle like this. Completely outmatched by the most unexpected of opponents – himself.

* * *

Tony was still holding on, and it looked like he was finally inflicting some damage on his opponent. He’d managed to mostly disarm the thing (he’d never seen so many explosives in his life) but he feared that it held much more weaponry than what he could see from the exterior. 

Thor was having a little more luck with his android, something that Tony was silently thanking the rest of the Norse gods for. Whoever these people were, it seemed they couldn’t build a robot that was a proper match for a demi-god.

But maybe that wasn’t their goal. Time suddenly slowed as a cold realization crept through Tony. He looked over to see Thor lifting his hammer to deliver the final blow to the android, now in a crumpled mess on the street.

Maybe they hadn’t built that robot to kill Thor. Maybe they’d built it knowing that he would destroy it. And that meant…

He screamed and then the explosion sounded, rocketing him backwards at an impossible speed before he was swallowed in darkness.

* * *

Somewhere, Steve heard Tony scream his name. Before he could even think to respond, his feet were being lifted off the ground and he was flying towards a nearby building at a speed he was sure even Thor couldn’t duplicate. His mouth formed Tony’s name and he thought he screamed for him, but then the wall was coming faster and faster and…

* * *

Natasha bent her head, tears leaking silently out of her eyes.

“I said, TURN IT OFF!” she screamed, raising her head to look at the television before her.

The entire picture on the screen was engulfed in smoke; the street wasn’t even visible, and she didn’t want it to be. She shut her eyes, the events she had just witnessed playing on a sickening loop in her mind.

She didn’t want to see Steve’s body from where it would be lying crumpled at the bottom of the brick building he’d slammed into at a deadly speed. She didn’t want to see Tony’s remains, which would be completely incinerated thanks to the bomb the destruction of Thor’s robot had set off less than three feet from him. She didn’t want to see Bruce, who would now undoubtedly be in his human form, lying bloodied and dead on the sidewalk. And she certainly didn’t want to see Clint, who would be lying broken and lifeless on the street after his fall from the top of a six-story building, the arrow still embedded in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I don't know how this happened but it kind of looks like I killed everyone...
> 
> DON'T PANIC
> 
> Will update soon.


End file.
